


Alt

by gertrudeabernathy



Series: Keyboard [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, POV Stiles, lydia is onto them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:26:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gertrudeabernathy/pseuds/gertrudeabernathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is happy because in the fight last night, he was a BAMF! Or - at any rate, not actually pathetic! And Lydia knows! But he feels like it would be weird to thank Derek for his help with Lydia Martin, long-term Captain of the Stilinski Secret Team of Lust. Especially when Derek seems to be doing pretty well as first alternate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alt

“Fuck!” yelped Stiles, sucking his burnt finger for a second, as their old - no, VINTAGE - toaster resisted his efforts to rescue his slightly misshapen pop tart before it set off the smoke alarm. He reflexively picked up the butter knife, thought better of it, and turned off the toaster at the wall. Even then, shoving a big metal thing into something electric seemed like a bad plan, so he scuffled around in the drawer until he found a pair of bamboo chopsticks. They worked perfectly. Stiles leant on the sink, eating his poor freaky-looking slightly-singed pop tart with satisfaction, while running the cold water over his finger till it was numb.

He felt like McGuyver. He was a genius. He had gotten out of school without telling his dad a single lie, and now he had secured breakfast without electrocuting himself. He hadn’t jerked off over Lydia once today - and it was five past eleven already! Self-control!

He got himself a decorous glass of milk and sat at the kitchen table to think - or if he was honest, to gloat a little over the performance of the McCall-Hale Wolf-Human Alliance last night. There were a lot of moments to feel good about: Lydia laying down the law about communications and Derek unhesitatingly agreeing with her; Scott actually following a plan for once; and Allison being all magnificent and scary with her bow. Plus, the part where STILES FOUGHT AND HE DIDN’T SUCK! - where Derek was looking over to find out who he needed to be rescued from and guess what? he didn’t need rescuing AT ALL. The Stilinskis had triumphed - well Stiles had, and his dad would have triumphed too, except for the part where he would never ever know anything about it. Six months of throws and runs and blocking punches and elbows and effective cheaty stomping with Derek, and he had finally escaped his usual role in the bullshit: that of “idiot with own car”, or even worse, “pathetic he-maiden tied to train-tracks”. The only sad part was that Lydia hadn’t seen it for herself.

“All good?” she had said, from her perch on the bonnet of the Jeep in the courtyard. “Are we going to Deaton’s? No hospital cases?” and she looked at Stiles curiously.

Derek had tracked her gaze. “Not on our side.” And he gave Stiles another one of those amazing half-smiles, the second one of the night. He was used to Derek’s glares, and his ironic eyebrow stare, and his worried look, and his insane guilt-face - but his face lately was a mystery. It was to do with the training together, or something. Lydia had looked between them, and murmured, “Interesting.”

\------

“So: Derek: I want you to train me up a bit too.”

“No.”

“Just so ‘s I’m not completely useless.”

“No.”

“But I don’t HAVE to be a liability!”

“If I teach you anything, you will try and fight someone, and then they will kill you.”

“So you think my best defence is to be too pathetic to kill.”

“Actually: yes.”

“I wasn’t too pathetic for Gerard to torture, was I?” And Stiles was completely serious. Derek considered it, then his mouth twisted.

“Maybe we should work on making you even more pathetic.”

Stiles felt the blood drain out of his face. “Ok. Fuck you.” And he turned and walked away. 

“Stiles.” He kept walking.

“Stiles. Sorry.” 

Stiles didn’t even turn around, just kept walking away. Except that now Derek was standing in front of him.

“You aren’t pathetic.” 

“I’m glad you find it funny that I was tortured.”

“I -“ and Derek couldn’t look him in the eye, and he was breathing hard. “You know that I don’t.” 

“Then why won’t you do what I want?”

“Because… come back to the house for a minute.” 

Stiles couldn’t help staring a bit. Derek wanted to sit down to talk. He wanted Stiles to sit down, to make it harder for him to to walk away again. And Derek also wanted to sit down because he was upset, in himself. He was - distressed - because they were really fighting, as opposed to their normal mode of giving each other shit. He could tell. Derek was afraid that Stiles would say what had been on the tip of his tongue a moment ago: “Stay away from me.”

This was all new information.

\-----

Stiles was really hungry, so he started to cook up eggs and ham and tomatoes. At least Lydia had gotten the message about Stiles’ amazing (and incredibly lucky) single-fight-derived BAMF status. He was going to text her in a minute - at lunch - because thanks to her comms policy it was now official that he had her number! - to find out what the chem homework was, and to see if she had anything further to add to his new “interesting” rating - which was a big improvement on his previous rating on the Martin Scale: “non-existent”. What a difference a year made, eh? And it was all because of Derek … maybe he should say something, thank him? But then, it might feel weird, thanking Derek for his help in the Lydia department. Not that his help had always been exactly enthusiastic.

\-----

“Of course, none of that will work on one of us.”

“I know. Not the hand-to-hand stuff, anyway.”

“This is what scares me. This is why I didn’t want -. You are imagining you will carry a hammer or a bat or something, and you’ll learn a few more throws, and then you’ll think you have a chance against some strange wolf. And then you’ll be dead.”

“I’m not imagining anything. I know this. I’m too slow.”

“Not just slow. I can feel you getting more confident with your strength out there. You commit harder. And you enjoy it. You feel stronger, to yourself.”

“I know that I’m not actually winning against YOU, Derek, I’m not that stupid.”

“I’m saying, you can’t even hurt us. At all.”

They were recovering - well Stiles was - on the porch, covered with grass stains and bits of mud, looking out to the darkening woods.

“Sure.”

“Forget wolves. You will almost certainly lose against any adult human with any fighting experience.”

“You really are the worst teacher ever.” Derek had jerked around, frowning, til Stiles let himself smile his wickedest smile.

“See. That hurt a little, right?”

“Point taken.” There was a really, really long silence. “Am I? A bad teacher?”

Now Stiles just felt plain mean. He shuffled along the porch step and leaned on Derek, like he had done a hundred times when he was being shown a hold or picked up off the ground or shoved into it. He was as startlingly warm as ever, and a little damp with sweat, and he smelt wonderful, salty and satisfying. “No, asshat. You were - are - a big surprise actually. A good surprise.”

“How?” He didn’t move away.

“You are very, very patient.”

“Patient.”

"You stay calm when I can't get things. And you are so careful with me.”

“Not careful enough,” and he pushed up the sleeve of Stiles’ t-shirt to look at the yellowing set of finger bruises on his upper arm. “Sorry about that.”

“Do you know what I look like after lacrosse, dude? And you were catching me before I crashed into a tree, from memory. And I don’t care anyway.”

“Do you get it though? About us? Forget an alpha. Do you think you could hurt Scott?”

“I could devastate Scott, but not by hitting him, no.”

“None of those holds we’ve practiced will work on us. You can’t be imagining that you have any chance. I would just break your arms, or mine, or whatever, and five seconds later you’d be bleeding out.”

“God, Derek, this is really depressing.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who doesn't… you know.”

“Doesn’t want the bite?”'

“Yeah.”

Stiles shuffled back along the step so he could look at Derek’s face at arm’s length. “Hey - are you offended or sad or something? That I don’t want it?”

The young wolf’s face was a study. Did he look rueful? He was frowning but he wasn’t angry. He almost looked - proud. 

“No,” and he looked away so Stiles couldn’t see his face any more. “I like it, that you know you’re all right as you are.”

That was old Derek: just full of surprises.

\-----

Stiles dumped his plate and glass in the sink, and turned around and leaned back on it, palming himself through his pyjamas without any real intention of doing anything about anything. He wasn’t hard, exactly. It must have been from thinking about practising holds with Derek, about his back like the proverbial bag of snakes, all muscle and movement, his heart beating steady against Stiles’ back, the rumble of his voice in his chest, the heat of his thigh in some obscene wrestling grip… One day Stiles had tried to joke about it - asked if historians knew how Greco-Roman Fucking had differed from the Wrestling, and Derek had done his stifled snort laugh and then maybe got a little embarrassed, and moved on briskly to something that involved less writhing - which was very sweet, really. For such a hard-ass, apart from his compulsive shirtlessness, Derek could be amazingly shy. 

Ok, NOW he was hard. But it was good, because although he was being a pervert, he wasn’t being one about Lydia, right? Of late, Derek had become, embarrassingly, first alternate on the formerly two-girl Beacon Hills High team of Secret Lust Objects (Stilinski Division). (The other girl was definitely NOT Allison Argent. Only a few times, anyway. And maybe Scotty wouldn’t even be mad. She made HIM crazy, after all.)

At some point - a while ago maybe - it had just become easier to imagine Derek leaning into him, forehead to forehead, running his hands over Stiles’ sides and down to his cock. Derek would slip one big hand down inside the back of his pyjamas, on his ass, to hold him in carefully, so that he could work him, rub against him through the brushed cotton. He held his hand up to his face, imagined it was Derek’s broad fingers that he was sucking into his mouth two at a time, Derek’s palm that he was licking wetly, open mouthed, to prepare it to touch him. His own unsteady breath could be Derek’s - what a thing that would be, to feel that body tremble against him and to know that he could make that man blush and shiver! And - as he felt his body arch, rigid, in that kind of sexual shock that struck him sometimes when he first put his wet hand on himself - it was also easy to imagine that it wouldn’t be just about touching skin to Derek. He could almost hear him whispering, “you are beautiful, so beautiful, come for me Stiles, let me feel you, please…” 

When he came, he made an inexplicable noise that he was really glad no-one could possibly have heard. It still startled him, how intense it could be, that sea of feeling right there under everything ordinary, the heat and even pain of his longing right there in their kitchen, eggs and tomatoes and possible chem homework and Derek’s imaginary love, because that’s what it came down to. He cleaned himself up with a paper towel, wincing at the roughness. He’d shower in a minute anyway. He wasn’t that worried about the gay thing - the bi thing - whatever - no-one in Bigot Hills had to know, after all! - but was it a betrayal of real-Derek, or not? He wasn’t so sure - mostly because of that strange day at the house.

\-----

It happened after they had all trooped upstairs to see that horrible, depressing room. When he saw where Derek was sleeping, Stiles had gotten so sad so fast it made him feel sick. Derek was looking out for them, for the whole town even, sometimes, and no-one was looking out for Derek. No-one. The reminder of the horrible fate of the Hales was right there on the bedroom wall. What could he say in front of the others? “I don’t think you should punish yourself by living here, because I think that if you stay, one morning you will look at that burnt part of the wall and go downstairs and mix up a big wolfsbane milkshake and drink it, and die.” 

And then he saw that Derek was looking at him, and he absolutely had to get whatever look was on his face off it. So he stuck his hands on his hips and just for a second, he found himself imitating Carson from that old TV show, because he was clearly insane, so he tried really hard and then he was just being himself but in some bossy and ridiculous version, laying down the law about Derek’s own BED in his own room in his own grown-man’s house. And Derek took it - he looked like he was trying to make a plan. Maybe he knew he needed some help. And because Stiles couldn’t let his eyes go back to that burnt patch on the wall unless he wanted to start crying, he found himself doing Snow White waking up with the little birdies flying around her, and it made Derek laugh - grunt - whatever, and he could get out of there away from that wall and go downstairs.

And in the kitchen Derek had been - really, really sweet. Stiles thought that he had been trying to say that he looked good - grown up - but his face was very intense and somehow what he got was that Derek thought he was beautiful. Derek. The alpha. The most beautiful human being Stiles had ever seen, bar none. Thought HE was beautiful. If he was sure, it would have been almost too much to take.

\-----

He stripped off his pyjamas and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked all right. He wondered how Derek would react to finding out that he was probably the brand-new Captain of the Stilinski Team of Lust. He imagined telling him, leaning in, whispering it really close to his ear, “I think about you.” Judging by the stirring in his cock, blurred at the bottom of the mirror as the shower behind him heated up, Derek’s first season stats were bound to be impressive.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in defiance of the ten thousand other things I had to do today as a companion piece for Ctrl. (sorry not sure how to make a link.) I guess I was worried that Ctrl would be lonely.


End file.
